


blessed be the boys time can't capture

by rododaktvlos



Category: The Old Guard (Comics), The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Art History, Artist Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Historical, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Renaissance Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:41:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26392066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rododaktvlos/pseuds/rododaktvlos
Summary: Yusuf loves drawing Nicolò, that much is certain: whether it be a doodle on the corner of a page in his sketchbook or a painting on a panel larger than either of them, he's always found something almost sacred, almost divine about it, about tracing the curve of his nose, the bright glimmer in his eyes, the relaxed grin on his lips and recreating his image like Allah created man in his own. They often joke about Yusuf painting Nicolò into the likeness of a saint, but nothing really ever becomes of it --- until.(Yusuf wants to paint his beloved in the likeness of Saint Sebastian; Nicolò can't help but agree.)
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Kudos: 29





	blessed be the boys time can't capture

**Author's Note:**

> special thanks to hottopicmonk on tumblr for inspiring me to write this! originally this was just going to be a few headcanons about joenicky and saint sebastian, but then self-indulgent brain kicked in and here we are, because I simply could not pass the opportunity to insert my art history crush antonello da messina in a fanfiction about painting saint sebastian. enjoy!

Yusuf loves drawing Nicolò, that much is certain: whether it be a doodle on the corner of a page in his sketchbook or a painting on a panel larger than either of them, he's always found something almost sacred, almost divine about it, about tracing the curve of his nose, the bright glimmer in his eyes, the relaxed grin on his lips and recreating his image like Allah created man in his own. They often joke about Yusuf making Nicolò into a saint, giving his face to George slaying the dragon, or perhaps painting both of their likenesses onto an embrace of Sergius and Bacchus commissioned by another wealthy Florentine with tastes not unlike theirs, but nothing really ever becomes of it --- until.

They're staying in Venice at Antonello's house, not long after he's returned from his latest travel to the Flanders; him and Yusuf are excitedly discussing the latest news in oil painting, while Nicolò is dozing off in bed as he pretends to follow the conversation, still tangled up in their sweat and spill and little else.   
He stretches and stirs, more asleep than awake, and both of them look up at him from the desk in Antonello's room they're sitting at; the man glances at his figure, lightly constrained by the bed sheets strategically covering his body, his face still blissed-out, and reaches for his sketchbook, showing his latest preliminary sketches to Yusuf. A young man, tied up with rope to a pole, arrows penetrating his near-bared body in an intent more sensual than murderous, if the man's expression is anything to go by.  
"San..." He can't recall the saint's name on his tongue, but he knows the man is one: it's always saints and Marys with Catholic artists, which isn't necessarily a complaint. "Sebastiano," Antonello helps him, his voice low. "I was commissioned a Martyrdom of Saint Sebastian by the Church of San Zulian, and I thought you might appreciate the idea."  
He glances up at his lover, fast asleep in bed still, and back down at the sketch. "Who's the man?" he asks, an artist's silent understanding: every painting contains a part of its maker's soul, but masterpieces such as Antonello's seldom are created without a certain familiar face to inspire the hand that paints its likeness.  
"An old friend," he answers, his eyes growing dark. "Loved him and left him in Messina, like too many other things in my life."  
Yusuf nods, he too well aware of what it means to leave people behind; his heart still aches when he thinks of his sister Maryam sometimes, watches over her descendants in Mahdia and Tunis as best as he can alongside his beloved. "I'm going back there as soon as I finish this commission, tell you that," Antonello interrupts his thoughts. "I far too much miss my dear Smeralda and my dearest hometown, though I'm sure a man like you would have none such problems."  
Yusuf scoffs playfully. "I miss more places and people than you could ever think possible, believe me," he replies, and that much is the truth: the pain of leaving people and places he's loved never stops or dulls after centuries of life, or at the very least it still hasn't for himself and Nicolò.   
He comes back home that night with his head buzzing, and dreams of his sister, of his past life in sun-scorched Mahdia, of his beloved's embrace as they ate and drank and recited poetry in his family's house in Damascus, back when they were still learning to know and love each other for the very first time. He dreams other, abstract dreams too: a broken arrow, lengths of rope holding strong muscles tight, his beloved's face enraptured, the near-indecency of a drape slipping off his bare lap, and these don't fade from his thoughts even after he wakes up.  
He tells Nicolò of the sketch Antonello showed him, the sketch that hasn't left his mind since he first saw it, and his lover's eyes widen, his interest piqued. "Would you like to paint me like that?" he whispers, his voice low and raspy like he knows it drives Yusuf wild.  
He nods, not wanting to break the heavy intimacy of the silence hanging between them, and Nicolò presses a kiss to his lips, his hand caressing at first his cheek and then moving lower and lower.  
"Paint me then, beloved," he tells him in that same voice, before dragging him to the bedroom, and Yusuf begs Allah to let him at least finish the sketch that night before succumbing to the desires of the flesh. (If He hears that plea, He seems to pay him no attention.)

* * *

Centuries later, one French art forger baptised as Sébastien Le Livre has joined their warrior group of immortals, and he finds himself with them at a safehouse in Florence sometime between the two world wars; he's still young, barely been undead for more than a century, and cannot wrap his head around the idea of his mates having been alive since way before his country or the one they're staying in were united. Safehouses like that are a blessing to him, filled to the brim with material testaments of his and his companions' eternal lives, and often hiding pieces deserving of a place in a museum; it is one of these he stumbles upon that afternoon as he explores the dusty old attic, holding a torch high and not too close as he theatrically removes the white cloth covering a painting --- late 1400s, he thinks with a glance at the technique and at the style, further proved by the signature in the lower right corner reading "al-Kaysani, 1479".  
Yusuf's old art, and certainly not his oldest, he thinks to himself, and he has a better look at the subject: a Sebastian like himself, painted as was the norm in the day, penetrated by arrows and tied up to a pole, in an expression of supposed agony resembling more of a _petite mort_ than a real death.  
Only when he pays closer attention to the face does he realise who the subject is, and he recoils so suddenly he drops his lamp in the darkness --- he cannot look Nicolò in the face for a week following the incident, and they only find out about that when Yusuf goes to store another masterpiece in the attic alongside the cursed San Sebastiano. They laugh it out eventually, of course, and it becomes something to tease them both about, but he is more than glad to be leaving Florence and going to London the week after that, where he starts going by Booker and buries his old name for good.

**Author's Note:**

> 1) the saints george, sergius and bacchus are mentioned for good reason: saint george was the patron of nicolò's native republic of genova, while sergius and bacchus are a couple of martyrs widely renowned as patrons of the gay community.  
> 2) antonello da messina was an early renaissance artist who introduced flemish oil painting to italy and popularised, alongside andrea mantegna, the classic portrayal of the martyrdom of saint sebastian; one of his friends in messina was saint eustochia smeralda (the smeralda antonello mentions), and he allegedly even painted her likeness in his "virgin of the annunciation".  
> 3) the headcanon of yusuf coming from mahdia belongs to the aforementioned hottopicmonk, and that of him having a sister named maryam comes from a conversation with tovezza, also on tumblr; go check them out, and if you feel so inclined check me out too at rododaktvlos!


End file.
